


'Saint' Michael: Dog Walker Extraordinaire

by azure_iolite



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Chloe does not like Michael, Coffee, Crack, Dogs, Gen, Humor, Huskies win, Merry Michaelmas 2020, Michael crack, Michael is a bastard, Michael is broke, Michael is cheap, Michael is no Saint, Michael whump, Michaelmas, Michaelmas made me do it, One curse word, Season 5a mild spoilers, Sort Of, Spoiler Alert - Freeform, bitter angel, money problems, silliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:21:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26705161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/azure_iolite/pseuds/azure_iolite
Summary: When the Archangel Michael tries to make amends with Chloe Decker, he decides that coffee is the key to any mortal's heart. But how, pray tell, did he acquire the seven dollars needed to buy her a tall nonfat almond milk latte with sugar free caramel drizzle? Well...
Relationships: Chloe Decker/Michael
Comments: 24
Kudos: 70





	'Saint' Michael: Dog Walker Extraordinaire

Chloe Decker tugged on the bars, and a pang of— _not_ guilt—sympathy hit Michael in the chest. He didn’t really want to upset her. This wasn’t even _about_ her. Sure, he would need to play on her fears for his plan to work, but...

Michael wanted to do something nice for her.

Which was odd, right? Why should an archangel trouble himself over the feelings of a mortal? Especially with what was truly at stake. In the grand scheme of things, her emotional state was inconsequential. But...

Was it wrong for him to want her to like him?

The Detective let out an angry exclamation as she lost her footing and stumbled back. She landed on her hindquarters and she just sat there for a moment, glaring. She looked tired, like she could use a bit of a “pick me up,” and well, he had time to kill. Chloe needed coffee. And not just _any_ coffee, he decided. Her favorite. A tall nonfat almond milk latte with sugar free caramel drizzle.

Eager to set this new plan in motion, he reached into his pocket and—

Nothing. There was nothing there.

Michael was broke.

***

“Yes, of course, I understand.” Michael sat in the middle of an abandoned giraffe and zebra pen, phone against his ear as he listened.

It had been a grueling process, but he eventually landed himself a job as a ‘5 star dog walker’ on a website called ‘Wag,’ after which, he was contacted by someone in need of his services.

“Absolutely. Maintaining the emotional and physical well-being of our fur babies is very important.” Michael mastered the art of being agreeable without actually listening a very long time ago. Really, it was Lucifer’s fault for never shutting up, but the skill proved useful when interacting with mortals, at least.

The woman on the other end yammered on and on about her animals, and he, in turn, offered vague comments to indicate agreement and understanding at the proper cues, all the while picking at weeds overtaking the abandoned enclosure out of sheer boredom. After a tedious monologue about dogs in need, she finally listed off an address, and asked how soon he could arrive. 

Instantly. He could be there instantly. But humans would be suspicious of that.

“Give me—” He glanced upward at the barren sky, pretending to do math in his head, “oh, a little less than 20 minutes.”

“Wow, that soon?” The woman sounded surprised.

“If that’s alright with you.” Michael smirked. “I just _love_ dogs, and the way you talk about yours, I can’t wait to meet them.”

“Absolutely!” she elated before rambling on about the creatures for another five minutes. Seriously, how many “special considerations” did a couple canines need?

***

This was not a couple canines.

No.

This was an honest to Dad pack of wolves!

Michael didn’t sign up for—okay, maybe he did—but they were supposed to be smaller! And quieter. And less... _wild._ It occurred to him that maybe he ought to have listened to the mortal on the phone. As he considered retreating, the woman talked.

Apparently the “huskies” liked him. Huskies? Michael remembered something about these being called “snow dogs,” or, “sled dogs?” Yeah, no. More like _shed_ dogs, as their fur had a way of getting everywhere, and in no time at all, he was covered in it. The human fetched a few leashes, jabbering all the while.

“Thank God you accepted the job so quickly. I normally try to take them out every day myself, but something’s come up.”

Why did she have—Michael quickly counted the yapping, jumping, butt wiggling beasts—six huskies? “It’s no trouble,” he lied. _Six_ huskies? Was the woman insane?

“I’m so glad you think so. When I started this program, I never thought it’d be this hard to find and keep help. And we keep getting dogs faster than we can re-home them. I guess everyone just watched Game of Thrones, decided to get huskies cause they look like dire wolves, then they dumped them when they found out how much work real animals are. It makes me so mad when people do that.” She grunted angrily. “I rescued these precious babies from kill shelters, and most of them are three years or younger.” 

Six sets of leashes were handed over, and Michael—on autopilot—accepted them, still in shock about the whole thing. What in Dad’s name had he gotten himself into? The mortal kept gabbing.

“Now we just need to care for them until they get adopted and find their forever homes.” She paused to look at him inquisitively. “You know anyone who might want a husky?”

Snapping out of his daze, Michael grinned. He could give one to Lucifer, just drop it off in the penthouse and leave. “I might know someone.” 

He bent to leash one of the excited creatures. As it jumped up to assault the archangel’s face with its tongue, he snatched its collar and clicked the leash on. The woman prattled on about how huskies couldn’t go to just any home, something about adoption forms—so much for depositing one in his wretched twin’s lap—while he attached a lead to each collar.

“Wait, you aren’t planning on walking all six at once, are you?” the woman exclaimed when she realized what he was doing.

Michael looked at the dim-witted things. Three were already tangling their leashes, and one was on its back, flopping about like a fish out of water. He considered making two trips but decided against it. That would take longer. And he was an archangel. It wasn’t like there was much they could do to him.

“I’ll be back shortly,” he replied, opening the door, and all at once, the creatures came to life. They charged in a mess of skittering paws, furry bodies, and wiggling curled tails. And barking. Lots of barking. Michael had just barely enough time to realize his error before the leash of one canine caught him in the back of the knee, and just like that, he was propelled out the door, at the mercy of six hyper animals.

***

Incident 1: Dog Fight

“Oh, wow! You have beautiful dogs!” 

This was a comment he received from three joggers, a mother with children who didn’t understand how unwise it was to run up to strange animals, a man walking a golden haired pooch, and now, a lady with a poodle. And he just left the residence not even five minutes prior. The poodle was a prissy, white thing, complete with ludacris hair-cut and bedazzled collar.

Michael was about to point out—again—that they were not his, and she could have them, when the animal who clearly had been walking her rather than the other way around, lurched forward, baring its teeth and letting lose an especially nasty snarl.

The woman stumbled and let go.

As the deranged dog met the team of huskies, they converged on their assailant as one. Either the poodle was suicidal or it had even fewer brain cells that his idiot twin, because it didn’t even hesitate. Michael watched impassively as it received a well placed bite at the neck and another at its back ankle. Unsurprisingly, It let loose a blood curdling howl. That was when the human finally came to her senses and rushed to her moronic pet’s rescue, all the while yelling at _him_ as if _he_ was somehow responsible for _her_ kamikaze canine’s assault on the huskies.

Conclusion: Poodles are wicked, hateful beasts, and anyone who owns one is scum.

Incident 2: Fear tactics

After the attack-poodle, the animals refused to calm down. They kept yapping and tugging every which way. This behavior was not acceptable, and Michael decided enough was enough. He focused on projecting an aura of fear outward. Once he was certain he was properly terrifying enough to encourage obedience, he barked a command at the obnoxious creatures.

“Sit!”

The huskies turned his way. Their hackles flew up, their ears flattened, their eyes grew wide, and their tails went down. He expected them to cower. Instead, they skittered in place, their legs flailing madly about, before turning to escape with a desperate dash for sanctuary.

The problem was that Michael still had hold of their leads, and the dogs didn’t go far before the lines snapped taut, stretched to their full extent. This should have been the end of it, but instead, something unthinkable happened. 

His feet started to slide across the pavement.

It was slow at first, but it quickly built momentum, and before he knew what was happening, he was being pulled across the road like a sled by a team of terrified dogs.

Conclusion: It doesn’t matter how strong one is if one’s feet are not glued to the pavement. 

Incident 3: Squirrel Problems

Dodging traffic gave him the idea to find a park.

It was pleasant at first. It had rolling grassy hills, a winding paved pathway, artfully scattered trees, an avant-garde sculpture or two, and a play structure. But with one angry chirp from the tree branches, the peaceful atmosphere was shattered.

At first, observing seven squirrels warring over a single french fry was amusing. Tragically, the brainless creatures he was walking decided that jumping as high as they could, barking, and running in circles around him would somehow enable them to catch the quarreling rodents.

All they succeeded in doing, however, was tying up one befuddled archangel, who _could_ break the leashes, but would subsequently lose the dogs, and good luck getting paid after that. As the six leashes wound around him, the squirrels took notice of the madness and forgot about the coveted french fry.

Michael was certain they would leave, but he was not so lucky.

The vile things scampered down the trees and into the grass, barking defiantly at the pack of huskies. Sure enough, the dogs took the bait. They charged. Michael fell over, as his legs were completely ensnared. The huskies darted from tree to tree, trying in vain to catch the critters who taunted them, and Michael, still caught in the leads, was dragged along behind.

Conclusion: Those cheeky little devils were tormenting him intentionally and belong in Hell.

Incident 4: Cleanup Duty

“Hey!” 

Michael turned to see an angry woman in a park services uniform pointing an accusing finger his way. 

“Are you gonna pick that up?” She gesticulated at the russet colored animal’s recently expelled stool. Steam rose up from it, permeating the area with a decidedly foul stench.

“Beg pardon?” He must’ve misheard. That mortal didn’t honestly expect him to... _pick it up?_ Surely not.

“Pick up the poop, or I’ll write you a citation.”

Michael was at a loss. 

“Is this a law?” 

The woman raised an eyebrow, and he cringed. Apparently it was. He thought back to all the other times the dogs left steamy piles behind during this excursion, and a sinking feeling settled over him. Was he going to have to go back... and... clean them _all_ up? 

He couldn’t fathom why he should. As far as he knew, excrement was biodegradable. Surely, leaving them made more sense, but if it was the law—

“Well?” She crossed her arms and leveled an authoritative glare his way. “Grab one of those bags,” she motioned at the blue bone-shaped charm attached to one of the leashes, which apparently contained little plastic baggies, “And pick it up.” She tapped her foot.

“Yes, of course,” the reluctant angel surrendered with a shudder. After all, it wasn’t in his nature to break the rules. 

Conclusion: Laws which force archangels to pick up fecal matter are unjust.

Incident 5: Abandoned Burger

It started with a sharp tug. Michael turned to see what captured the canines’ interest. As all six of them fought to get closer, he spotted it: a yellow paper wrapper, partially opened to reveal a mostly consumed burger. 

Disgusting.

For some reason, judging from the way their eyes zeroed in on it as they muscled one another to get closer, one would think they found the Holy Grail—which, by the way, was a meaningless artifact with absolutely no holy powers whatsoever—not unlike the refuse the animals were working themselves into a frenzy over.

A growl turned into snapping, which led to more growling and barking, and in an instant, it turned into a free for all brawl for the burger. 

“Nice,” a random human drawled sarcastically as he passed. “Get your asshole dogs under control.”

The look directed at the foolish mortal may or may not have resulted in the man running in terror. Michael hardly cared. He had bigger problems, like getting the animals to desist.

Conclusion: Anyone who litters deserves to go to Hell.

Incident 6: Celtic Knots:

At long last, the idiotic dogs stopped. Mostly because they could barely move. Such was their fervor over the fight, they failed to notice the leashes getting stuck under bellies, woven between legs, twisted, knotted, and jumbled up in a giant, tangled mess.

Michael stared in wonder at the catastrophe before him.

It’s complexity almost made it seem intentional.

How?

How did they manage to ensnare themselves so utterly? And how was he supposed to fix it? 

Resigned to his fate, he dragged the bundle of tied-up canines over to the grass and set to work. He quickly learned the hardest thing about disentangling dog leashes was the simple fact that he couldn’t unclip them. This left him with one end he couldn’t work with, and more importantly, leads that may as well have been alive, seeing at the infernal creatures would not— _could_ not—hold still.

As the minutes ticked by and he made little to no progress, what with huskies walking all over him, flopping onto his lap, and slathering his face with dog slobber, he wondered—if only briefly—if this was punishment for something. Surely, this exact scenario was featured in at least one Hell loop. 

Conclusion: He should have made two trips.

***

Upon returning, Michael reflected on his experience. He was not fond of dog owners. He was not fond of dogs. He was especially not fond of huskies. They were overly energetic, shedding, biting, noisy, obnoxious, chaos-inducing bastards. But it was over now.

“How did it go?” the woman asked as he entered the building. 

Chloe had better appreciate every last drop of that coffee, Michael decided.

“Fine, nothing I can’t handle.” He started to brush fur off his pants.

“I’m glad to hear that. I went ahead and leashed the rest of the dogs. They’re in the back, ready to go.”

What? 

***

Finally done with the task, paid up and free, Michael stepped forward as the mortal working at Beelzebean asked, “What can I get started for you?”

Michael smiled politely at the woman behind the counter, before glancing down once more to make certain he got all the dog hair off. He smirked with satisfaction, noting that tape purchased at the dollar store worked every bit as well as the over-priced lint roller he found in the department store.

“One tall nonfat almond milk latte with sugar free caramel drizzle, please.” He was light on his feet as the human tapped away on her device.

“Anything else?” She beamed at him with the overly-white-toothed smile of a wannabe actress who just worked as a barista ‘for the time being.’

Hmm, did he want to treat himself? He certainly earned it. He glanced over the posted menu, but his mood soured as he saw the prices. 

“No, thank you.” 

Absolutely not. Especially after everything he’d been through to acquire the meager funds he had.

The bleach blonde in front of him continued to smile. “That’ll be $5.75,” she chirped. 

Michael winced. Why was the Detective’s taste so expensive? Plain black coffee ought to be sufficient. Oh, well, it couldn’t be helped. He reached into his pocket.

“With sales tax, which brings it to $6.49.”

Michael grumbled as he retrieved an extra dollar, reminding himself that getting this coffee was the whole reason for his tribulations. Even if these prices were clearly theft. And taxes were nothing short of highway robbery.

***

Back at the abandoned zoo, he approached the cave to see Chloe Jane Decker still at work on the bars. A fond smile snuck onto his lips for a brief moment at her tenacity. Glancing down at the beverage, he took a breath. This was it.

Presentation was everything.

“Hello Detective,” he greeted as he walked up to her, hands behind his back, concealing the surprise. The Detective stopped what she was doing to turn and wearily watch his approach as he proudly produced the beverage, bringing it upfront with a subtle flourish.

“One tall nonfat almond milk latte with sugar free caramel drizzle.” He held up the cup and brought it to her through the bars, careful not to spill any.

She stared at him disbelievingly, one foot sliding forward, but otherwise unmoving.

“It’s your favorite! Common,” he encouraged. She stared at him blankly. “Come on.” The cup edged closer.

Chloe cautiously stepped forward, smiling nervously. She worried her bottom lip as she reached for it. And for an instant, when their fingers almost touched, his heart fluttered.

But then her hand swept sideways, knocking it from his hand at high speed, and the contents spilled all across the cave floor.

“Hey!” he snapped indignantly. “That was like—” he searched his recollection, “7 bucks!”

**Author's Note:**

> Poor Michael.  
> Would she have accepted the drink had she known what he went through to get it for her?  
> ...  
> No.  
> No she would not have.
> 
> This fic is being posted in honor of the long forgotten holiday: Michaelmas!  
> For those who don't know, it's celebrated on Sept 29.  
> So remember to enjoy your blackberry treat (or wine) while you can, because as we all know, when Lucifer fell from Heaven, he landed in blackberries and cursed them all, making them inedible after this day.  
> Lucifer is such a drama king.


End file.
